


Folsom Prison Blues

by neversaydie



Category: Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU - no more walkers, Gen, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could probably let his guard down and get fat and lazy if he wanted, just like most of the surviving population. But that wasn't going to happen.</p>
<p>He wouldn't be caught unawares again. Hell no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Folsom Prison Blues

**Author's Note:**

> This is AU in that it's post-post-apocalypse: there are no more walkers and the world's sort of back on its feet.

Daryl had headphones in so people wouldn't talk to him, but he never listened to anything. He'd rebuilt or retrieved most of his old music collection, even scrounged up some Metallica (though it only made him think of his brother), but he never listened to a damn thing in public. It wasn't safe to cut his awareness off, hobble himself unnecessarily and make it easy for some motherfucker to sneak up on him—

Except there weren't walkers anymore. There wasn't anything waiting to get the drop on him, no need to be hyper vigilant. The promise of safety didn't help him sleep any better at night, or stop him from checking exit routes in his peripheral vision every few minutes, but it was there all the same. He could probably leave his fucking door unlocked these days, since most people were still playing nice now the world was slowly pulling itself back together. He could probably let his guard down and get fat and lazy if he wanted, just like most of the surviving population. But that wasn't going to happen.

He wouldn't be caught unawares again. Hell no.

The first thing the train passed was a cemetery. He carefully didn't think about the fact there were years missing from the headstones, years when everyone died but no one was buried. He carefully didn't think about other graves with rough-hewn wooden crosses, rings of stones and an early-morning rose left with a promise. He sank into his seat, closed his eyes, and very carefully didn't think at all for a minute.

He never stopped listening to the sounds of the train around him, even with his eyes closed. The gossiping couple two rows ahead, the squeaky hinge of the door between carriages, the laboured breathing of the asthmatic teenager across the aisle. How the fuck had he survived? Probably sat the whole thing out in one of the cushy government-run safe zones, or been evacuated across the border before all escape routes were closed. He'd probably have been about Sophia's age when everything started. Shit.

"Got you coffee."

He broke out of his trance to take the hot cup gratefully, swished burnt coffee around his mouth and tried not to gag when he swallowed. Drinking last night was a bad idea, no matter how necessary it seemed to shut his head up at the time, and now he needed the caffeine. Rick eyed him worriedly as he sat down opposite, cradling his own paper cup with care.

Rick had been one of the best at adapting to things getting back to normal, much to everyone's surprise. Maybe because he was immediately reinstated in his former job, and telling other people what to do had always helped him cope. Maybe because he still had Carl to worry about. Maybe he just swallowed his trauma and kept it locked down tight. Who knew? Hershel and his daughters had also adapted fairly well, returning to the farmhouse and staring to rebuild their home as soon as it was declared safe to do so. Carol and Glenn had struggled, but with therapy and patience they'd started to get back to living again, although the nightmares never really went away.

Daryl had barely adapted at all, and it wasn't hard to see he wasn't coping. After years of 360 degree combat, compounded onto his pre-existing trauma, his head was still full of living nightmares and terrible memories. He'd never been designed to live in this world, the world that was steadily returning to its pre-apocalypse state, and a survival of the fittest universe was one where he'd finally found his niche. Now that was gone, and he couldn't come back from it. The weight of everything swirling around behind his eyes was beginning to beat him, no matter how hard he fought it.

Waves were threatening to drag him under, and he was starting to stop fighting them.  

"Was gonna get you food, but figured I'd save my money." Rick opened his own pre-packaged sandwich and shot him a pointed look. Daryl shrugged, averting his eyes from the food with a grimace as his stomach rolled.

"You wouldn't be so hungover if you ate something, y'know."

"M'fine." He closed his eyes again, unable to watch his friend eat. "Only see it on your shoes in five minutes anyways."

"What I don't get is why drinks are okay, but food's out."

Another relic from the apocalypse, Daryl no longer trusted food he hadn't prepared himself. Part of it was irrational fear of some new virus being spread via food, part of it was paranoia, and part of it was just plain bad luck, psych-wise. Whatever it was, Rick never thought he'd see the day when someone looked better while the world was ending, but the evidence was sitting in front of him.

"What's up with that?"

"I don't fuckin' know."

"But where's the logic?"

"We gonna keep playin' twenty questions hoss, or you gon' let me sleep?"

It was just a way to get out of the conversation, Rick knew, but he acquiesced all the same. There was a red flush spreading across Daryl's cheeks, staining the skin under his screwed-shut eyes, and it wasn't like he needed someone else making him feel ashamed of himself. He managed that just fine on his own.

"You can sleep if you want." Rick kept his tone casual, and Daryl was grateful for his understanding. "I'll take watch."

It was a long five minutes of silence between them before Daryl cracked one eye open.

"Thanks." The mutter sounded reluctant, but Rick knew it was sincerely meant. 


End file.
